Sword After Spring

XII —

"Eleutheromania"

The memories that came to his mind weren't his own.

Shirou knew that as well as he knew his own name — yet, he was still certain of their validity. Not his, but [his]. So, just like that, he knew that — once upon a very, very long time, a man had knelt in front of a crowd.

His hands were bloodied, his knees injured, his eyelids heavy. From atop the wooden platform, his brilliant grey looked down upon the legion of curious and wrathful eyes that gazed upon him — and saw also the sad ones, the disbelieving ones, the betrayed ones, the grieving ones.

How cruel, he had thought.

Rough was the texture of his hands, the skin of his palm all but torn off after weeks of endless work. Rough was the texture of the wood under his knees, grainy and uneven as it was, marked by repeated impacts and the unstable hinges that held it up. Rough was the texture of the rope against his neck — the noose that was about to hang him.

White locks of hair danced softly as a breeze passed by, even in the warmth of a desert city. It was fitting that the world saw fit to give him one last brief moment of respite, after days upon days of endless toiling work within the war-torn dunes of the land he'd set out to try and 'save.'

The duties of a Superhero.

Looking upon the many faces of his audience, he couldn't help but wonder, for but a moment, if he'd been chasing after nothing all this time. If his efforts had been for nothing. If the years spent under this scorching sun, trying desperately to save just one more person, just one more city — if it had all been negligible.

— No.

There was a child within the crowd.

He recognised that boy. Dark-skinned just as he himself had come to be, with dark locks and wide brown eyes. He looked horrified, just as he had when [ Shirou ] had saved him — for a completely different reason, now. He held onto the fabric of his mother's dress with hands that trembled and shook in fear, looking as if he was seeing hell for the first time.

And perhaps he was.

But for [ Shirou ], it just answered his questions. He was right. He'd saved that boy, hadn't he? He'd done something. He'd made things better.

— He'd been someone's Hero.

Just like he was going to be everyone's Hero, after this.

So he flashed the boy his brightest, most genuine smile. It came from the soul, this time — why was it that only now did he manage to smile like [ that ] ? He couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. So long as that boy got it, so long as his feelings were conveyed — then it didn't matter.

… Something cranked beneath him. 'Ah,' he thought. 'So it was time.'

He thought of the deal he had made with [ it ] — with The World. A deal to save people forever. To become a Hero, a Guardian. His dream didn't end here. For that reason, [ Shirou ] wasn't afraid. His deal would save him. His dream would live on.

"O, Alaya —"

Those would be his last words. A prayer.

But, with his eyes, as he gazed upon the form of a boy whom he had saved, the only thing the could think of was —

"Thank god,

You're alive."

Long after, when he'd long since lost his name, when he'd long since lost his story — when "EMIYA" was all that he'd turned into — he would come to learn, after centuries of slavery and murder, that the boy had died not long after, rying to follow in his footsteps.

And he would come to hate himself just a little bit more, to hate his Fate with just a little bit more of himself.

But it didn't matter.

The Deal had already been made.

(History repeated itself, time after time after time.)

( A few months later. )

— Once again, Shirou woke up with a burning pain in his shoulder and a stifling pain in his chest, cold sweat dripping down his face.

His laboured breath rang loudly inside the dark room, scarcely lit by the twilight of the still-rising sun outside. His hand clenched tightly to the fabric of his shirt, feeling the pounding of his heart against his skin; thump, thump, thump.

That dream again.

The painful dreaming again, that is; even now, as he struggled to regain his breath from whatever mental evil had stolen it away, the memories began to blur, but not fade. Focus; the beating of his heart was still firm, still something to follow. Beat, pause, beat, pause. Samiya had taught him this trick; a good way to refocus after his dreams messed with his head. Let every sound become white noise. Let every thought fade into clouds. Just focus on your heartbeat.

Beat, pause. Beat, pause. Beat, pause. Breathe in.

…Right.

His breathing evened out. His chest stopped heaving. After a few merciless seconds, Shirou felt sure of who he was again. Everything was okay.

Yellow-gold eyes scanned the room he was in for a moment, sighing as he caught sight of Samiya's sleeping form, draped over a chair with her hair messily covering her face. She'd overworked herself again; it had happened more and more often these days, as she got more and more engrossed in her research. He'd tried to beat a decent sleeping schedule into her head, but to no avail.

Not, of course, that he could say much about that.

The two of them were together in Samiya's new apartment. A lot had happened; in the end, Anastasia had agreed that Shirou could stay over at his sister's whenever he wanted, as long as he still spent most of his time at the orphanage and gave her proper warning.

It wasn't at all an unreasonable arrangement. It would be considered mostly normal, even, under normal circumstances. But the tension was still there, barely concealed under the surface — it had only ever gotten worse.

He was being used to spy on his sister, he knew. Keep her on the narrow. If she stepped out of line, Shirou was to tell Anastasia — what came after, neither of them ever said out loud. He wouldn't, of course.

Not now, not ever.

With a sigh, Kōsetsu got up from his bed, stretching his arms over his head to shake off some of the remaining sleepiness. His muscles still ached with the old soreness that had become so familiar to him, with Anastasia's combat training [and other sources of old pain].

Still, today was no day to linger; Shirou was nothing if not endlessly diligent, and today was an important day.

— His very first day in Kuoh Academy, that is.

A quick look at his smartphone told him he had two unread messages, one from late at night and one from just now. Issei and his sister's patrn, then; Anastasia had still far from grasped texting, and it was unlikely a church agent would send him an SMS of all things.

On the flipside, receiving messages from that man wasn't exactly uncommon, though the man was often too busy to really converse.

(Or it could be Luviagelita. Shirou hoped it wasn't Luviagelita — that would not bode well.)

Still, he couldn't help but sigh as he read it;

[Unknown Number: Good luck at school today, Kōsetsu.

I am sure you will do well.

As usual, if you change your mind, just give me a call.]

— It was a little flattering.

It wasn't often, he didn't think, that Mephisto Pheles went after someone instead of the other way around.

He could appreciate being appreciated, if nothing else; still, Shirou was unused to being eyed as a prize so fervently. As it was, the boy was fairly sure the devil saw fit to try and win him over through sheer perseverance, if the amount of Grauzauberer members he'd been interacting with ever since refusing (delaying, a dark part of his mind whispered) Mephisto Pheles' … particular offer in that car, not so long ago.

It still echoed in his head.

Funny how quickly things change. A single day, a single disagreement, and his world had been turned upside down again. Even thinking of the offer he had received made the icy flame of discomfort burn in the back of his mind like a warning, but he fought through that foreign fear.

…well.

It was fine.

He had only met some of them, and even then only twice — but the human Magicians of Grauzauberer weren't bad people, unlike what he'd been led to believe.

They might not be good, as a general rule, but they weren't bad. They certainly didn't deserve the deaths the Church would have given them, had he offered them up to Anastasia on a silver platter — and Shirou was fairly sure that this was the reason why Mephisto Pheles was so keen on introducing him to the few agents of Grauzauberer in Japan, even though Shirou was not yet a Magician in truth.

Humanising the magicians to play on his reluctance to adopt violence. The desire to [save].

… It was working. But he could not say he regretted it fully.

He put on the Kuoh Academy uniform in a daze, staring at himself in the mirror with some discomfort. The stuffy uniform didn't much fit him; much too formal, much too stiff, a little tight around the shoulders. The boy in the reflection still didn't quite feel like him; dressed too nicely, with too-light skin and eyes that shone in gold instead of amber. His hair was still a mess of auburn and white interlocked, neither rhyme nor reason defining their placements.

But it would do.

All his life, he'd been told high school was an important moment in someone's life. A moment of learning, of discovering more about oneself, or preparing for adult life… and, if he were to trust Issei, for, ah, appreciating the feminine form as it flourishes. Though one may argue it is best not to linger on the sort of thing said by Issei.

In his case, it was also a moment of high pressure information gathering about a species of magical demonic entities at the behest of what might as well be humanity's single most powerful organisation.

But Shirou wasn't scared.

He was not scared. He wasn't — not really. However - There was a reluctance there.

Sooner or later, he'd have to make a choice.

And he'd do what needed to be done.

Before he left the house to follow his training routine, Kōsetsu walked softly to stand over his sister's sleeping form. Footsteps clicked slowly across the silent house, all traced between homely messes. The house smelled like she did - the same vaguely sweet smell that used to comfort his weary heart as a child. He smiled at her resting face.

Honestly; when she overworked herself like that, the girl could sleep through a nuclear attack.

Still, it would've felt odd to leave without saying goodbye; gingerly, he made sure to brush a lock of hair away and kissed her on the crown of her hair, much like she used to do to him when he was young.

It was… a bit awkward, actually. He was thankful she wasn't awake. This sort of open affection wasn't really his thing. But he supposed it wasn't bad to do every here and then.

"I'll be going," he murmured, and that was that.

Samiya's apartment building wasn't anything glorious; a small, five or six stories tall building in ugly concrete, but decently sturdy. Its relatively poor state was why Samiya could afford to rent the place in the first place; she was reluctant to ask anyone belonging to the supernatural world for money (or maybe just too proud), and so this would do.

The place was fine enough, though.

The city of Kuoh looked rather odd in the early morning, when the sun was still rising. Pleasant, though; a soft chill clung to the air, comforting rather than stifling like the chill of a dry snowy night. There weren't many people out and about this early in the day, so it didn't take Shirou all too long before he caught sight of the well-dressed man patiently waiting near his doorway.

— Ah.

He really shouldn't be surprised.

"Good morning, Kōsetsu-san." The man greeted him cordially. His voice rang slightly cold; yet, there was nothing to point out as particularly impolite. It was merely how he was. "I hope my presence isn't a surprise."

… It wasn't.

Rather, it surprised him that they let him stay over at Samiya's for this long, or on such a key date. The Holy Church had very good reasons to be suspicious of his elder sister — reasons he knew for a fact were emphatically correct. Yet, nonetheless, he was slightly displeased.

The Exorcist with whom he spoke was a tall, well-built japanese man in his mid-30s, with a face of sharp features and a pale complexion. The most unusual thing about him was his long, dark hair — unlike most men, who kept theirs short, this man was actually known for keeping his in the exact same Samurai style each day.

A trait of the Shinra clan, he'd heard.

Kiyotora Shinra, 34. A high-ranking Exorcist on-lease to the Kuoh Church for the time being — solely due to his familial connection to a student of note, if Shirou wasn't mistaken. In many ways, Kiyotora was present as backup; someone to send into Kuoh Academy as an agent on the parent side of things acting as a guardian, as opposed to observing it from the inside as a student.

He'd been introduced to Kiyotora before, if briefly. The fact that such a figure was brought into town for these purposes further emphasised the nature of his assignment.

A full-scope espionage mission.

"Good morning, Shinra-san." Shirou spoke back, nodding politely to the man. "It's alright. I assume you are here to get me?"

"That is correct." Once more, he spoke plainly. What must a man do across his life to turn off his humanity with such effectiveness, he wondered? "Since our mission will require us to maintain a degree of separation, I was instructed to brief you now."

And something precious in Shirou's heart cracked. Not broke, or shattered, or come apart — just a single, solitary crack.

— It begins.

Listen well, Kōsetsu.

Your instructions are simple.

You are to attend Kuoh Academy as a student. You are to make friends, to get good grades, and to overall make yourself stand out as a model student. You are to choose an extracurricular activity to partake in that you believe will draw attention.

This will increase your odds of being approached by the targets.

Your primary objective is to draw the eyes of a number of important figures. If our Intel is correct, there are at least two relevant individuals within the Academy in the business of reincarnation, so to speak. A pair of high-class Devils whose identities we have not yet confirmed.

You are to locate them. Ascertain yourself of their methods and relevance. Learn their names, to whom they are connected, what they intend on doing.

And, if at all possible —

Lure them out and take their lives.

Hyoudou Issei — that is his name. His parents and friends call him "Ise".

As of that very day, he was a first year high school student experiencing the time of his youth. Even as he slowly approached the gateways to his new academy, all Ise could think of was the myriad of new opportunities about to open up to him. Every good romance story happened in high school — it was a given.

This was the moment he'd been waiting for! Or so he would have liked to say. But…

The four of them walked together to school on their first day. Himself, Motohama, Matsuda and Shirou, that is — recently, they'd become a bit of a quartet. Kōsetsu was still as busy as ever, but it seemed like he was dedicated to nourishing their friendship regardless, so it was fine. He even put up with the other two for his sake.

Shirou still wasn't the biggest fan of Motohama and Matsuda. Rather, he was always trying to correct them — all three of them. Issei somehow still wished Shirou was a pervert such as them, but he'd never really managed to get to the boy.

(Yet. He hadn't managed to get to him yet. He would, though.)

They walked in silence, despite what you would expect. Their steps were mostly in-sync, but each of them was a bit distracted one way or the other. Issei himself felt his heart beat loudly in his ears the whole way; thump, thump, thump, thump.

The gates were open; already, a crowd of students began to gather and walk in, eyes bright and smiles light. Tethered to the atmosphere was a sensation of floaty excitement; the sort the young and more adjusted felt when faced with something new.

Motohama in particular looked downright panicked as they walked, though the bespectacled boy tried to play it off. His posture was stiff, his heart was pounding, his feet were uneven; it was likely the boy was faced with the classic jelly legs feeling characteristic of anxiety.

Issei could relate — he felt the same.

…This was a new beginning, kind of. He was excited to get to meet all the pretty girls (of which there were supposed to be many), but a part of him was reluctant anyway. He didn't like thinking about that part. Motohama was similar, it seemed — only his nerves had gotten to him during the last stretch.

To his right, Issei heard Shirou moving. With a sigh, having walked past Issei to be able to look at the other two — as usual, Shirou had chosen to stand opposite to Issei's other friends despite walking with them — the pale boy placed a hand on Motohama's shoulders, gazing up at him even as the Pervert jumped a bit in shock, torn from his tempestuous thoughts by such a simple touch.

"Wha— Kōsetsu, what is —?"

Issei kind of wanted to know, too.

"You'll be fine," the boy with the golden eyes said. "I promise. Just don't act out."

That at least seemed to bring him out of his reverie — Issei watched Motohama scoff at Shirou, though it lacked any of the bite it might otherwise have had. The dark-haired pervert readjusted his glasses with a slightly-trembling hand.

"I-I see you remain obstinate about your blindness." But then he followed that with a much softer voice; "...Thanks, Kōsetsu."

Ise felt similarly.

It was odd — just the previous day he had been burning with endless excitement and a sort of casual confidence that was hard to put to words. He knew he was gonna rock, he knew he was gonna be popular — but also he knew he was gonna be fine, and not isolated or immediately judged. He'd felt so sure — then the moment came and his confidence bled out of him like nothing else.

Shirou's words helped, though.

Having a friend's earnest support was really something. Maybe all those stupid Shounen power-of-friendship manga were onto something after all.

"Right!" He agreed verbally, drawing the attention of the other three boys present. Ise put a fist on his heart. He spoke from the heart, his tone cheerful and his eyes ablaze. "This is a new start for us! A new beginning! We gotta hold our heads high — or the girls won't look at us!"

"—And try not to ruin your chances at making friends in ten seconds by doing anything weird," Shirou completed, voice dry. "Like saying that out loud." Issei almost fell from mood whiplash, turning violently to glare at the younger boy, as if telling him to shut up.

Shirou smiled beautifully back at him in the sanctified way that only someone who knew they were being annoying could ever pull off.

Little bastard. Issei would so totally spoil the plot of the next anime he watched.

The other two didn't take that lying down either. Matsuda, who had been silent thus far and clearly moved by Issei's declaration, scowled comically at Shirou.

"You only say that because you're a kid! A dwarf! Your hormones are broken! That's why you can't see the glory of —"

… There was a wave of palpable violence. Shirou turned to Matsuda with the same smile he had shown Issei, but this time it promised unspeakable horrors.

"The glory of what, Matsuda-san?"

"— Sports," Matsuda finished, suddenly sounding very scared indeed.

Shirou nodded.

"That is what I thought."

"Goddamn…!"

Issei's awed murmur was only scarcely audible to Shirou. And while a small part of the boy's brain told him to scold his perverted friend for calling out the Lord's name in vain — a lesson Anastasia had beaten into him, like it or not, throughout the years, despite his odd relationship with the idea of the God of the bible — he could not bring himself to criticise him in that moment.

Kuoh Academh's auditorium was incredible. And something about it made Shirou feel incredibly uneasy.

Lavish was one way to put it; it wasn't as if Shirou wasn't expecting such a prestigious institution to be elegant, but he was unprepared for how intricate and beautiful the space was overall. The auditorium was a wide, large space with rows upon rows of chairs situated in different heights as well as a large stage with a podium. And when Shirou called the auditorium large, he meant it; by itself, that room could seat hundreds of people.

How did he know? Well, as it happened, it was comfortably seating some good three hundred people — every new First Year was required to be there, as well as most of the faculty and a good amount of upper-classmen of all shapes and sizes. It was actually rather impressive, if a little bit intimidating; Shirou Kōsetsu was in no way agoraphobic, but that did not mean he was not at least a little put-off by such a large crowd in one place.

The auditorium reverberated with a crescendo of anticipatory energy as the moments preceding the entrance ceremony unfolded. Murmurs of excited conversations echoed through the vast space, colliding with the occasional burst of laughter and the shuffling of restless feet. The ambient hum of whispered introductions — freshman meeting freshman, each of them scared and excited and alone — intermingled with the rustle of paper and the subtle clinking of metal here and there.

Motohama and Matsuda were chatting amongst themselves, but Issei seemed a little scared. It took him a good while to say anything after his initial expletive, and when he did, it was mostly quiet —

"That's… a lot of people, huh?"

For his part, Kōsetsu only barely looked around before nodding.

It was interesting to see Issei not pointing out the obvious — a good 70% of the students there were, in fact, women. But that was to be expected; right now, he figured, Issei was less focused on all the pretty women and more thinking about the drastic changes to his life he was about to experience.

This was, after all, the purpose of an entrance ceremony; introducing students to their new lives. For whatever reason, the experience felt… profoundly nostalgic.

— There was the faint sound of ringing bells.

Shirou looked to the right.

And there she was.

Hidden in the crowd. Just a head of hair poking out between dozens of others, a good ten rows away, but standing up where others were sitting. Purple hair, lavender — a pale, beautiful colour. And a red ribbon dancing in the unseen wind. He could only see her from behind. Her face, like always, was hidden from him. Her name was on his lips, on the tip of his tongue, on his skin —

He blinked.

And she was gone.

The girl in her place was still standing, her posture straight. He still couldn't see her. But when the microphones around the room resounded with a single ringing noise, and everything became silent, all eyes turned to her.

Her posture was firm. Her shoulders were calm. Even from behind, Shirou could spot the calling cards of good self-discipline from a mile away; not of the physical kind, maybe, but of the mental. This girl was used to responsibility. A class president, maybe?

But then the microphones continued;

"Attention, all first-year Students. The entrance ceremony speech will now begin." The voice speaking was a woman's, calm and expressionless. "Please welcome the president of our esteemed Student Council, and last year's honour student — Sona Sitri!"

As the girl, an embodiment of poise and quiet confidence, ascended the stage, a hush enveloped the auditorium.

The previously vibrant cacophony of unrelated sounds now surrendered to a profound stillness. Her impeccable posture commanded attention, and the tranquility she carried spoke louder than any previous commotion; but her beauty was remarkable too.

Sona Sitri, as she had been called, was a bespectacled young woman of slender frame.

Her short bob cut framed her face with sleek precision, and behind the lenses of her glasses, violet eyes exuded a subtle intensity. Dressed in an understated yet elegant manner like the rest or the girls in uniform, she nonetheless somehow embodied a timeless grace — quiet and dangerous

Taking her place at the podium, she embraced the silence for a moment, allowing its weight to settle. And, right then and there, Shirou realised what it was that was bothering him previously.

A smell — so faint he almost missed it.

Sulfur.

And thusly — I close Chapter XII, which is a bit short, with a few personal words.

Hey there, folks! T'is Lily here. Been a bit, but not too long.

Firstly, I wanted to update you on the release schedule for upcoming chapters. Moving forward, new chapters will be released… usually monthly to ensure a consistent and engaging experience. Well, kind of. You have someone out there to thank for that — it was my intention to publish more frequently already, but support and incentive made this possible.

As a side note — I appreciate your (well, most of your) understanding during my recent absence, which was necessary to focus on university commitments and securing employment. Lily happens to be a fledgling adult-adjacent now, and thus must. You know. Find ways to live. It is quite the experience.

Your support means a lot, and I'm excited to continue this journey with you.

Thank you for your patience and dedication to the story.

Well, that's it. Look forward to XIII, which is our bonus Christmas chapter - to be uploaded on the 25th. You can quote me on that.